


Straight Edge of the Blade

by menel



Category: Justified
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim doesn’t know anymore how he ended up in this mess. It began with a stupid bet that seemed totally harmless, but that was before shit literally blew up in his face and he became the walking wounded. Now Raylan’s playing nurse and Tim is filled with that sickening sort of dread. No, not because he’s about to lose his lunch, but because he maybe . . . sort of . . . kind of . . . is falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Harmless Bet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingermaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingermaya/gifts).



> Hello all, I think I'm back from my fanfic sabbatical. (I _think_.) I know it's dangerous starting another fic when I have "A Tipsy Turvy Sky" still hanging over me (it hasn't been abandoned, I swear), but the lovely gingermaya gave me this idea and I simply had to work with it. (My dear, I'm moving further and further away from your original prompt. I owe you another fic. *hugs*)

Tim leaned against the bar and tried to catch the bartender’s attention. Joe – at least, Tim was pretty sure his name was Joe – was at the other end serving some pretty young things in skimpy tops and short shorts. Tim sighed. Joe was as straight as could be and there was no way he was going to be able to compete with that much skin and youth. Tim turned away from them, still leaning on his left arm as he surveyed the rest of the place. This wasn’t his usual scene but his friend Mitchell had wanted to try something different and Tim remembered that Raylan had mentioned this bar once, had said that they usually had “good music” in the form of live bands. Curiosity had gotten the better of Tim and he’d suggested the bar to Mitchell who was always game to try anything at least once. Now Tim was buzzed and he and Mitchell hadn’t even gotten to the hard stuff yet. He didn’t want to overdo it tonight. It felt like ages since he’d been laid and he actually wanted to be functional when he and Mitchell finally left the bar. Not to mention that one of them had to _drive_. 

Just then a familiar Stetson danced at the periphery of Tim’s vision and he thought, _No. It couldn’t be. I mean, what are the chances?_

The chances, apparently, were very good as he watched Raylan Givens, the most desirable man in the Lexington U.S. Marshals office – hell, in the whole damn federal building – walk into the bar. Tim’s first instinct was to wave Raylan over, but he curbed it when he saw Raylan’s companion slip her arm through his. Raylan glanced at her as they moved through the crowd, giving her one of those soft smiles that Tim often wished he could steal for himself. He didn’t recognize the woman but she clearly fit Raylan’s type. Instead of being blond she had flaming red hair, but all the other characteristics were there – tall, long legged, and just generally stunning. _Beautiful people attracted beautiful people_ , Tim reflected. Raylan and his lady friend looked like they could’ve stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine, though the cowboy would probably die a painful, horrible death before admitting to that. Still, no one could deny Raylan’s Hollywood good looks and Tim suspected that his list of conquests were all former (or current) models, actresses or beauty queens. It’s not that he was implying that Raylan was shallow, more that Raylan went after a certain type and that type was equally attracted to him in droves. It also emphasized how Tim _wasn’t_ that type. Hell, that Tim didn’t even play for the right team. And that’s why he didn’t bother to wave Raylan over. He’d let the cowboy enjoy his preferred company and keep work or colleagues out of the equation. Besides, Joe had finally made it back to Tim’s part of the counter while Tim had been mooning over his ridiculously hot co-worker. It was definitely time to hit the hard stuff. 

About an hour later Tim was back at the bar, leaning over the same spot and trying to get Joe’s attention again. He’d probably reached his threshold for the night (getting laid, not completely smashed, was the end goal that he had to keep reminding himself of), but Mitchell wanted one more round. Tim was no wimp. He could take one more round. It was with some surprise that when he moved to his right he bumped into another person at the bar. Tim could’ve sworn that the space beside him was empty. 

“Sorry,” he said automatically, not actually looking at the stranger. 

“Hey there, Deputy.” 

Tim did look this time and was shocked to find Raylan beside him, leaning against the counter with that maddening ease. 

“Raylan,” he said, when he’d finally recovered his voice, pleased that he hadn’t revealed his surprise, nor had he slurred Raylan’s name. He gave his co-worker what was probably a lopsided grin. Raylan grinned back. It wasn’t quite the soft smile that Tim fantasized about it, but it was still nice to have Raylan’s attention focused on him. Raylan looked amused, as if he knew that Tim was close to getting smashed. Tim realized then that despite how long they’d been working together, he and Raylan rarely went out drinking. If they did, Rachel was usually with them and they never drank excessively. In other words, they’d never seen each other lose control because they were inebriated. Tim knew his reason for that. With his inhibitions stripped away, he was highly likely to do or say something potentially stupid around the other man, whom he’d been lusting after since Raylan had been transferred to their office. Tim played it straight like it was a second skin, but he was extra careful around Raylan Givens. When they were on the job, reining in those thoughts wasn’t an issue. Tim was a professional after all, and being a Ranger had solidified those instincts. It was when they were off the clock that Raylan became too much of a temptation. So, Tim was friendly and polite, but he maintained a certain distance. Raylan seemed to accept that and since he’d never pushed for a deeper friendship, Tim accepted that too, his conflicted feelings of disappointment and relief aside. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Raylan said, that gentle Southern drawl sounding like molasses to Tim’s ears. 

“You did recommend this place,” Tim told him, turning so that he was facing Raylan. 

“I did?” 

Tim grinned again. Of course, Raylan wouldn’t remember. He wasn’t offended. It had been such a casual conversation, such a throwaway piece of information to the other man. Naturally, Tim wouldn’t admit that he catalogued all their interactions down to the minutest detail. That would be like admitting that he had an obsession, which of course, he didn’t. 

“Yeah, it was a while back,” Tim replied with an off-handed shrug. 

“How you find it then?” 

“All right, I s’ppose.” 

“But not your kind of place?” 

Tim vacillated. It _could_ be his kind of place if he was here with different company. “You were right about the music,” he said at last. “It is good.” 

That earned him another grin, one that Tim couldn’t help but return. Raylan signaled to Joe and the man seemed to materialize in front of them. Tim mentally shook his head. He wasn’t surprised that Raylan could charm the bartender too. 

“Hey, Raylan. More of the same?” Joe asked. 

“And whatever my friend here is having,” Raylan added smoothly, gesturing at Tim. 

Joe nodded and as he moved to get their drinks (it appeared that Raylan’s companion had ordered a cocktail), Mitchell turned up, throwing an arm around Tim’s shoulders and pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. 

“What the hell is taking so long?” Mitchell asked, his speech slightly slurred. He only had eyes for Tim, and was oblivious to the fact that Tim was talking to someone else. 

Tim threw Raylan a quick look, his expression carefully neutral. Raylan was sharp and observant. Mitchell was being awfully handsy in his inebriated state and it wasn’t going to take Raylan long to figure out what sort of relationship the two of them had. In fact, Raylan was steadily holding Tim’s gaze and his expression was equally neutral. Raylan knew. He had to. Tim searched the other man’s face for censure, reproach or disapproval, the reactions that he was typically used to encountering that made playing it straight the smart alternative. Tim couldn’t see any judgment there but unfortunately he couldn’t see anything else either. He wondered if he’d have to have a talk with Raylan in more professional circumstances but that only lead to wondering what exactly he’d say in that talk. _Um, so I guess you figured out I’m gay. Think we could just keep that between us? Oh, and I swear this ain’t gonna change our working relationship even though I’ve had a hard-on for you since you got here._ Yeah, Tim could see how that conversation would go really well. 

“You gonna introduce me to your friend?” 

Tim was jolted out of his thoughts by Raylan speaking to him. “Yeah,” he said automatically, even though he didn’t particularly want to do that. “Um, this is Tom Mitchell, an army buddy. Tom, this is Raylan Givens.” 

Mitchell turned in the right direction, finally noticing that Raylan was there. He brightened and smiled broadly at Raylan. “Oh, hey,” he said, his left arm still around Tim’s shoulders (at this point he looked like he needed the support), but he extended his right hand. “Raylan, right. I’ve heard about you.” 

Tim could feel a slight warmth on his cheeks that he told himself was on account of the alcohol that he’d drunk, not because he was actually blushing. 

“And it’s just Mitchell,” Mitchell went on. “No one calls me Tom.” 

“Not even your mother?” Raylan inquired as he shook Mitchell’s hand. 

The question made Mitchell laugh. “All right,” he conceded. “Maybe my mom.” He was still grinning. “Tim was right about that sense of humor.” 

Tim, at this point, wanted to hit his drunken friend nice and hard. 

“Yeah? What else has Tim told you about me?”

The question was intended for Mitchell, but Raylan held Tim’s gaze as he asked it. 

“Aw, just some work stories. You Marshals can sure get up to some shenanigans.” 

“We’ve had our fair share,” Raylan admitted, his eyes never leaving Tim’s face. “S’ppose it comes with the territory.” 

Tim could feel his face growing warmer. He was the first to break eye contact by looking at the bar counter where a wet spot was darkening the wood. To his horror, Mitchell was still speaking. 

“Tim said you were soft on the eyes too. Had that whole cowboy thing going for you.” 

“We should follow up those drinks,” Tim said loudly. He was certain he could still feel Raylan’s gaze upon him. Thankfully, Mitchell was interrupted by the appearance of Raylan’s companion with the fiery red hair. 

“Hey, baby,” she said, almost mirroring Mitchell’s actions by slipping an arm about Raylan’s waist. She obviously wasn’t inebriated enough to need to lean on Raylan for any kind of support, unless it was of the purely voluntary kind. Raylan obliged her by slipping his arm around her waist as well, drawing her closer to him. “Who are you friends?” 

“This is Deputy Tim Gutterson and this is his friend, Tom Mitchell.” It was Raylan’s turn to make the introductions. “And this is the lovely Allison Parker.” 

“Ally,” the redhead interjected. “Please call me Ally.” 

“ _Ally_ ,” Raylan emphasized affectionately, “is a . . .” He trailed off and glanced at her as though the answer would materialize on her face or maybe she’d bail him out and finish his sentence for him. 

For her part, Ally was giving Raylan her own affectionately challenging look as though daring him to remember what it was she did for a living. 

“An events organizer?” Raylan finally finished off, the questioning note and raised eyebrow indicative of his uncertainty. 

Ally smiled and inclined her head slightly towards Raylan, confirming that he’d gotten her job right. Tim watched their silent exchange with a pang of jealousy, which he covered with a veneer of amusement. The rest of the exchange became a bit of a blur for him. Joe arrived with their drinks and Ally made some kind of toast before she and Raylan returned to their seats. They were at a table near the front where the band was playing. Raylan asked if he and Mitchell would like to join them, and when Tim didn’t respond, Mitchell politely declined on their behalf saying that they were leaving soon. It was true. This was supposed to be their last round. 

“I can’t believe you’re not tapping that,” Mitchell said once Raylan and Ally were gone. 

“What?” Tim asked, snapping out of his daze. 

“That,” Mitchell said, nodding in Raylan’s direction, “is one fine ass.” 

Tim rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his drink, slamming his glass down on the counter a little harder than he intended. That caught Joe’s attention and Tim motioned for their tab. Joe nodded as Tim turned to face Mitchell, cutting off his view of Raylan and Ally. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, and his voice sounded sour to his own ears. 

Mitchell gave him a far too thoughtful look given how much alcohol he’d drunk before nodding. He finished the rest of his drink as well before slapping Tim on the back and saying, “Time for amazing sex.”

* * * * *

Tim stretched on his back as Mitchell collapsed on the bed beside him.

“We’re still good at that,” Mitchell said, the smirk evident in his tone. 

Tim was too content to rag on Mitchell’s prowess in the bedroom. It seemed hypocritical given that he’d called Mitchell precisely to get laid. What were fuck buddies for? He felt the bed dip and he knew, even without opening his eyes, that Mitchell had propped himself up on one arm and was leaning over him. 

“So . . .” Mitchell drawled. “Raylan Givens?” 

Tim’s eyes shot open and he gave Mitchell a wary look. “What about him?” he asked, feigning disinterest. Raylan Givens was the last thing he’d expected Mitchell to bring up after two rounds of steamy sex. 

“What’s the deal between the two of you?” 

Tim shut his eyes again and rolled over on his side, his back to the other man. “There _is_ no deal,” he mumbled, hoping that Mitchell would take the hint and shut up. Mitchell, however, had other ideas. 

“You should totally ask him out.” 

Tim opened his eyes again but didn’t give Mitchell the benefit of facing him. “And why would I do that?” 

“Because you’ve been pining over him for months,” Mitchell replied. “And I didn’t realize how bad you had it until I saw you with him tonight. And he’s . . . well . . . the man is walking sex. I’d tap that if I had the chance.” 

Irritated by how spot on Mitchell was Tim turned around again so that he could glare at his friend. “In case you didn’t notice,” he said sternly, “Raylan doesn’t play for the same team. Remember Ally? She’s just another in a long line of conquests that Raylan goes for.” 

Mitchell didn’t say anything for a moment but there was a glint in his eye that Tim found mildly disconcerting. “I have this theory,” he began slowly, his free hand traveling down Tim’s chest. “Guys like Raylan, growing up in an ultra conservative country like this, they’re taught to behave a certain way ‘cos of things that are expected of them even if they may . . . want other things.” 

“You don’t know anything about him,” Tim interrupted, disliking the psychoanalytic mumbo jumbo that his friend had a tendency to fall into. 

“I know what you’ve told me,” Mitchell said. “And you’ve told me _a lot_.” 

“Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about,” Tim huffed. 

“I think you do,” Mitchell said, a bit too knowingly. “You work with the guy pretty much every day and you pay attention.” 

“What’s your point?” Tim asked impatiently. 

“My point is that I think he’s into you.” 

At this, Tim burst out laughing and it was a good two minutes before he recovered enough to speak. “Look,” he said, wiping away the tears from his eyes. “I’m not saying Raylan hasn’t got issues because he _does_. The man has a Ph.D. in emotional unavailability but one of those issues ain’t a repressed sexuality. He’s a top dog. Alpha male. No repression there.” 

“I’m not disputing the alpha male,” Mitchell agreed. “That much is obvious. But who says he doesn’t play for both teams? Did you see the way he was looking at you earlier? Like he was two steps away from throwing you down on that counter and having his way with you.” 

Tim would’ve burst out laughing again except that Mitchell wasn’t joking at all. He was perfectly serious and that was a rare enough occurrence. Instead, Tim found himself looking at his friend with a mixture of confusion and shock. How he wished what Mitchell was saying were true, but that was impossible. 

“First of all,” Tim began, just as seriously. “You were practically shit-faced earlier so you don’t know what you’re talking about. And believe me, I’m not Raylan’s type.” 

“How do you _know_ that?” Mitchell pressed. “And I wasn’t that drunk,” he added a little defensively. “I saw how he changed when I came over, turning into some kind of predator. It was like he’d just figured something out about you and it turned him on.” 

_Yeah, he figured out that I’m gay_ , Tim wanted to say but kept his mouth shut. Mitchell’s reading of the whole scenario was completely different from his. It didn’t seem possible that he’d misinterpreted things, but when he reflected on the intensity of Raylan’s gaze and how he’d eventually had to look away . . . 

Tim cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter what you think you saw,” he said quietly. “I’m not gonna jeopardize our working relationship. We got a good thing going. We’re in tune.” 

Mitchell’s grin grew lascivious. “What? You don’t think you’d be in tune in bed?” 

That earned him a hard smack. 

“Shut up.” 

It was Mitchell’s turn to laugh but when he sobered he said gently, “I’m serious too. You should test the waters. What do you have to lose?” 

_A lot_ , Tim thought absently, but Mitchell was persistent. 

“C’mon, Gutterson. Man up. You want this guy and I’m telling you, you got a chance with him. Since when have you ever backed down from a challenge?” 

“Is this a dare?” Tim asked incredulously. “What are you? Twelve?” 

“It's a bet,” Mitchell returned. 

“What are we betting on?” 

“We’re betting that you can get into Raylan Givens’ pants.” 

“Uh-huh,” Tim said dubiously. “And what are the stakes?” 

“Well, if you manage to seduce the good Marshal, which means _I_ win,” Mitchell added. “Then you owe me a new CheyTac .408 cal.” At Tim’s widened eyes, Mitchell quickly went on. “And if you don’t get Givens into bed than I owe _you_ a new CheyTac .408 cal. Or the AX338,” he added as an afterthought. 

Tim was processing the stakes even as he said absently, “The AX338? What? You don’t even shop American anymore?” 

“You telling me you don’t want one of those?” Mitchell challenged. 

Tim shrugged in a non-committal fashion. He wasn’t about to deny that the AX338 was a beautiful sniper rifle. The AWSMs had begun to be phased out late last year and were being replaced by the new AX series. While Tim was proudly patriotic, he had to admit that the Brits knew what they were doing with the Arctic Warfare design and he wouldn’t mind having one of those in his collection. 

“These are pretty high stakes,” he commented. 

“This is a pretty serious bet,” Mitchell replied. 

Tim finally turned on his other side so that he was facing Mitchell. “Why do you care so much?” 

This time Mitchell shrugged but there was nothing non-committal about it. “You’re my friend,” he said, running his free hand up and down Tim’s side. “I want you to be happy.” 

Tim smiled, even as he shook his head in disbelief. That had to be the most absurd thing Mitchell had said all night. He’d just associated happiness with Raylan Givens. Tim leaned in, taking Mitchell’s cock in hand as he did so. 

“You’re gonna owe me a CheyTac .408 cal,” he whispered before kissing him.


	2. Operation Cowboy Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the opening chapter that the title of this fic comes from the Jenny and Johnny song of the same name. (Yeah, because Jenny Lewis is so inspirational for me when it comes to writing _Justified_ fic. :-)

Operation Cowboy Romance, as Mitchell immediately dubbed the bet, took a lot more planning than Tim was willing to admit. Of course, Mitchell’s first suggestion was that Tim get Raylan shit-faced drunk and then take him to bed but Tim had a lot more finesse than that. Plus, Tim secretly thought that Raylan might be able to drink him under the table and he didn’t want to particularly find out that way ‘cos that would be deeply embarrassing and a blow to his ego. No, if Tim were going to ‘test the waters’ as Mitchell called it, he’d have to be far subtler. Besides, he didn’t want Raylan pissed at him. Raylan tended to shoot people he was pissed at, and Tim had been shot at enough times in his life, thank you very much. 

So Operation Cowboy Romance (god, Tim _hated_ that name but Mitchell cackled with delight every time he said it) was all about spending more time with Raylan off-duty and preferably alone, increasing physical contact, spouting innuendo, seeing if Raylan was responsive to any of Tim’s advances and generally praying that he didn’t get shot or lose his job for sexually harassing a co-worker while playing it straight for the rest of the world. No sweat. 

Tim never did have that ‘Oh, by the way, I’m gay’ talk with Raylan that he contemplated having after running into Raylan that weekend in Joe’s bar. Raylan didn’t treat him any differently the following Monday and it was understood (because they were in tune like that) that Raylan would keep his little secret. Despite that outrageous hat, the cowboy knew how to be discreet when it counted. This was one of those times. 

Unfortunately, since Raylan wasn’t treating him any differently, it also meant that socializing with him after hours was as hard as ever but Tim admitted to himself that he’d played a part in setting up their far too congenial friendship this way. He began casually asking Raylan if he’d like to get a drink after work to which Raylan would often give him a questioning look. Sometimes Raylan said ‘yes,’ other times he said ‘no.’ Since Tim couldn’t figure out a pattern to these responses, he found the whole thing discouraging. He wasn’t getting any closer to Raylan, much less any closer to getting inside Raylan’s pants. He unofficially recruited Rachel into his plans by asking her to join them for drinks, although this defeated the purpose of spending time with Raylan alone. Still, it had the desired effect since the cowboy was a true southern gentleman and there was no way he was going to offend a lady by turning down her suggestion for after work drinks. 

Drinks eventually became part of their routine and it was during one of these times that Tim, who was sitting closer to Raylan than usual thanks to the packed bar, accidently knocked Raylan’s leg under the table as he adjusted his seat to make way for the waitress passing behind them precariously balancing a tray laden with drinks. The apology was automatic and Raylan brushed it away with a wave of his hand. _It wasn’t as if they were playing footsie under the table_ , Tim thought. He had to force back a grin at that mental image and in a moment of insanity he moved his leg again, this time deliberately resting his knee against Raylan’s thigh. Raylan was speaking to Rachel and he spared Tim the briefest glance at Tim’s action before returning to the conversation. Raylan didn’t move his leg away and this time Tim hid his smile behind the beer he was drinking. After that, Tim would steal those bits of physical contact under the table, pressing their calves together, touching a booted ankle or resting his leg against Raylans’s thigh. Once, due to the circumstances, Tim found himself pressed right up against Raylan’s side in a crowded booth, the warmth of Raylan’s leg burning Tim through his jeans. Tim was acutely aware of Raylan’s arm, stretched out across the booth behind him and the whole situation would’ve made him blush except that Raylan was busy chatting up a blond legal aide that had joined them at their table. Interfering blond or not, Tim counted their after hours drinks as a win. Raylan never instigated anything, but he never pulled away either. It was a start. 

Seduction, for Tim, meant getting to know Raylan better, which translated into deepening their friendship. Common sense dictated that getting to know someone better meant sharing some of yourself with them in the belief that your sharing would be reciprocated. That was a lot easier said than done because Tim had never been good at opening himself up to anyone. He liked his privacy. He fiercely protected it. But, he reasoned to himself, it’s not like he was gonna bare his soul to Raylan. They just needed to talk a bit more. 

During one of their long prison transports across the state, instead of staring out the window and watching the scenery or napping in the front seat, Tim did the unheard of and started a conversation. Raylan didn’t exactly tell him to shut up but he did give Tim a funny look before refocusing his attention on the road. (They always took Raylan’s town car to pick up a prisoner. Tim attributed it to Raylan’s control-freak need to drive.) Tim chattered all the way to their lunch stop, occasionally asking Raylan questions in an effort to get him involved. To Tim’s surprise, Raylan always politely answered with more than one word statements, but it was still left to him to carry the bulk of the conversation. When they stopped at a dusty roadside eatery for lunch, Tim kept talking. Bizarrely, once he got started it was easy to keep going. There wasn’t much space inside the tiny eatery, so they sat under the wide canopy out front on one of the old picnic tables. 

When Tim finally took a bite of his messy burger, he exclaimed with surprise, “Holy shit, this is really good.” 

Raylan nodded. “It’s the secret weapon of cross-state transport duty,” he agreed. “Makes the long drive bearable.” 

Tim caught his eye just then, wondering if that was an underhanded jab at him, that his chatter had made the drive up there unbearable. 

Raylan appeared to be reading his mind and his expression softened as he leaned forward slightly. “Now,” he said, reassuringly. “If you can talk through this meal, I’ll be mighty impressed.” 

Tim grinned. That sounded like a challenge to him and what had Mitchell said about challenges? That he wasn’t the type to back down. He picked up the conversation after a few careful chews and this time Raylan joined in properly. Everything was going so well that Tim couldn’t help but feel like they were on a date. Okay, so that was his imagination taking flight but it was still a pleasant thought. He had Raylan to himself out in the middle of nowhere, a nice breeze in what otherwise should’ve been a scorching day, good burgers and cold beers. Prison transport duty was the furthest thing from his mind. Their lunch hour went by too quickly and before Tim knew it, they were standing up and throwing their trash away. As they walked back to Raylan’s car, Tim reached out and held the other man’s arm. Raylan stopped walking and gave him a questioning look. Tim knew he should let go of Raylan’s arm now that he’d gotten his attention but found that he didn’t want to. He kicked a small stone at his feet before looking up and saying, “I could drive. If you wanted to rest or whatever. Just take a break.” 

Tim didn’t expect Raylan to take him up on his offer. It was wiser to take turns driving on long trips like these, but unless Raylan was especially fatigued he preferred to do all the driving. Hence, Tim’s belief in Raylan’s control-freak driving tendencies. Raylan’s gaze had dropped to where Tim’s hand was still holding his arm and under the weight of that look, Tim finally let him go. Tim thought he’d probably crossed some kind of boundary. He’d pushed his luck. But then Raylan was digging into his right hand pocket and what he took out was the key to his car. He held it out to Tim, the key flat on his palm. Tim took it from him, lingering much longer than he should have so that his fingers brushed Raylan’s palm and for the briefest of moments they were almost holding hands. When Tim was holding the key, the smile he gave Raylan was blinding. Raylan didn’t return it, but underneath the shadow of the Stetson’s brim, Tim could see a softness around his eyes – a fondness – that Tim had never seen before and it made him feel warm inside. 

The rest of the drive was silent as Raylan dozed in the front seat, the Stetson low over his face. At some point, Tim turned on the radio and the sound of bluegrass music kept him company as Raylan slept.

* * * * *

Tim didn’t really know why he agreed to the bet with Mitchell. A part of him wanted to, he supposed, but he never thought he’d actually have a chance of winning. Maybe it was simply the excuse to try. Whatever his underlying motives (and that belonged to the territory of Mitchell’s psychoanalytic babble), Tim was giving it his best shot. He realized belatedly that they’d never set a time limit for the bet, which seemed incredibly stupid in hindsight. All he knew was that a month and a half had passed since they’d made the wager and Tim was ready to call it quits. A CheyTac .408 cal was hardly a poor consolation prize. He decided to bring it up with Mitchell who was staying over that night before taking off on some trip. Tim wasn’t entirely sure what Mitchell did for a living since they’d been discharged from the army. He didn’t pry because he suspected it probably wasn’t strictly legal and the last thing he wanted to do was arrest him. Mitchell staying the night meant that he didn’t expect to get laid for a while and Tim wasn’t one to turn down a friend in need.

When he got home after work, Mitchell was already there being domestic. (The guy had his moments and he knew where Tim kept the spare key.) 

“It’s spaghetti for dinner,” Mitchell called as Tim went straight to his bedroom to change. “And I took out some of that spicy fried chicken you like so much.” 

_Actually_ , Tim thought absently, _that spicy fried chicken was Raylan’s favorite_ but he didn’t say that aloud. Raylan had introduced him to a ridiculously named chicken restaurant called ‘Chickadee’ and Tim had nearly come in his pants watching Raylan savor a drumstick and lick his fingers clean afterwards. He now had extremely fond memories of spicy fried chicken and it had pleased him to no end that Raylan had suggested getting a bite to eat after work. If nothing else, Tim was making real progress on the friendship front. It may not have been the same thing as having Raylan in his bed, but it was a lot more than he had before. 

“What? No salad?” Tim asked when he entered the kitchen. 

Mitchell made a face. He was hardly the healthy eater between the two of them. “You could make one,” he suggested. “Oh, if you ever remembered to go to the supermarket.” 

“Thanks, mom,” Tim replied, digging into the brown paper bag and pulling out a chicken wing. “How long will you be gone?” 

Mitchell shrugged, putting a large bowl of pasta noodles in the center of the table. They often ate in the kitchen or in the living room in front of the TV. Tim actually had a small dining area in his apartment but he hardly ever used it. 

“Dunno,” Mitchell answered. “Maybe two weeks?” 

Tim nodded, helping himself to some spaghetti. Mitchell followed up with the spaghetti sauce and some hefty meatballs. Tim eyed the giant meatballs with an amused grin. 

“Somebody’s serious about getting laid tonight,” he teased. 

“As if I’d need to bribe you with food,” Mitchell retorted but he was grinning as he sat down opposite Tim. He helped himself to the spaghetti as well and speared a giant meatball. “Speaking of getting laid . . .” he trailed off with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

“Glad you brought that up,” Tim said with a sigh. “I think it’s time you owed me a CheyTac .408 cal. Or the AX338, if you’re so inclined.” 

Mitchell looked comical for a moment as he opened his mouth for a forkful of spaghetti but forgot to follow through. “It’s only been a month and a half,” he argued, putting his fork down. 

“I’m surprised you’ve given me that long,” Tim commented. “Thought you would’ve given me two weeks tops.” 

“You’re the one who was going on and on about getting it right,” Mitchell grumbled. “Setting the mood and all that shit.” 

“I took the bet seriously,” Tim countered, purposely using the past tense. “Raylan was never gonna be an easy lay unless I’m tall, blond and stunning . . . oh, and _female_.” 

“Told you, you should’ve just gotten him drunk.” 

“Yeah, ‘cos the awkwardness at work would’ve been a joy to deal with the day after.” 

“And your idea of wining and dining him isn’t going to be more awkward?” Mitchell asked incredulously. “Break ups are helluva lot worse to deal with than one night stands. The bet was to get laid, not turn him into your boyfriend.” 

That was completely true but Tim only shrugged in response, concentrating on his fried chicken. “Maybe I want something more than a one night stand,” he said after a while. 

Mitchell looked at him sympathetically. “You really have it bad.” 

Tim brushed that sympathy away. He didn’t want Mitchell’s pity. “It don’t matter,” he said roughly. “It’s not like I’m not getting anything out of this. Raylan and I are friends now. _Real_ friends.” 

Mitchell looked dubious at that declaration, as if being friends with a guy you couldn’t have and had to watch with countless others was much of an improvement, but Tim soldiered on. 

“Plus,” he added, “a brand new CheyTac Intervention will go a long way to soothing my bruised ego.” 

Mitchell groaned. That damn sniper rifle was going to put a dent in his bank account. “Well, I’m not giving up on your powers of seduction yet,” he stated, picking up his fork again. “Give it until I get back. That’s two weeks at least, which means if you haven’t seduced Givens in two months, then you’re probably not going to be able to. What do you say?” 

“I think you’re trying to get out of getting me that rifle.” 

“Hey, my bank account will appreciate postponing that purchase for at least two weeks,” Mitchell replied. “Is that a yes?” 

“Fine,” Tim sighed. “I’ll give it two more weeks.”

* * * * *

Three days after Mitchell left Tim was in the locker room of the Marshals’ office, leaning against the lockers as Raylan put on his tac gear. He was rattling off a list of suspects and their criminal backgrounds, which was proving to be quite lengthy. Their fugitive, Jimmy Gray, was believed to be hiding out with his family up in the boondocks. The catch was that the Gray family was also in the meth business, cooking the stuff in their backyard and then distributing it in that particular county. Armed with a warrant, the Marshals were about to raid the Gray property for the purpose of taking in Jimmy, but if they broke this meth ring, even temporarily, it would be a bonus.

“You missed one,” Tim said suddenly, noticing that one of the side straps on Raylan’s vest was undone. Without even thinking about it, he moved forward into the other man’s personal space and did up the offending strap. He stepped away just as quickly, returning to his spot against his locker, which was right beside Raylan’s. He could feel Raylan’s gaze on him and Tim kept his eyes focused on the folder that he was holding. 

“Thanks,” Raylan said quietly. 

Tim half-grunted, half-nodded in reply before he resumed going through the list. It was weird, spontaneously helping Raylan with his vest like that and he’d half-expected the other man to call him out on it. He’d been invading Raylan’s personal space a lot of late. That tactic had somehow become part of his plan to literally get closer to the other man. But it was reaching the point where it would be hard not to notice and Raylan was hardly oblivious, even though he could play the part well when called upon to do so. Tim finished the list he was reading and in the brief pause after citing the last felony charge, he casually threw in, “Wanna have dinner later?” 

Raylan closed his locker and this time he stepped into Tim’s personal space, one hand propped beside Tim’s head as Raylan leaned in. Tim didn’t back away but he could feel his heart rate increasing slightly at Raylan’s proximity. 

“What’s going on here?” Raylan asked. 

“Here?” Tim repeated, buying a little time as he figured out what to say next. He decided to play dumb and go for the literal. “Well, we’re about to go on a raid and I just finished giving you a background on the Gray family.” 

Raylan wasn’t having any of it. “And dinner?” he prompted. 

Tim shrugged. “Can’t co-workers have dinner together?” he asked. 

“Co-workers?” There was an inflection in Raylan’s voice that turned the word into a question. “That’s how you think of us? As colleagues?” 

“Well . . . yeah,” Tim answered. He licked his lips. “Maybe . . . friends?” 

“You’ve been awfully friendly of late, Tim,” Raylan said, and by now Tim’s heart was positively drumming in his chest. “Is that what we’re doing? Being . . . _friends_?” 

_This was it_ , Tim realized. Raylan was done with all of Tim’s dancing around the topic and he wanted a straight answer to the talk that they’d never had. He opened his mouth to give an honest reply, to properly ask Raylan out on a date even if they were at work and it was against his principles (not to mention his abject fear of rejection – but it was better to _know_ , right?), but before he could say anything he was interrupted by the boss and the boss’s bad timing. 

“What the hell is taking so long?” Art barked from the doorway. He gave his deputies a once over and said, “If you two are done holding hands, we got a fugitive to catch.” 

Raylan stepped away with a mild look of annoyance as he inclined his head in Art’s direction. Art took this as a sign of acknowledgement and after eyeing them somewhat suspiciously, he left the room. Raylan turned away from Tim, their conversation seemingly forgotten. The tension between them was gone and Tim found himself at a loss for words. _Fuck. Had he just missed his chance?_ Raylan was already heading for the door and Tim took in a deep breath. He let it out with a sigh and followed his partner out the door.

* * * * *

When Tim had jokingly described the Gray residence as ‘up in the boondocks,’ he didn’t realize how right he was. The Grays lived on top of a hill and had a perfect view of every approach to their home. They were also heavily armed for hillbillies and before the Marshals knew it, they were pinned down by gunfire.

“One hell of a friendly reception,” Art said, taking cover behind a large boulder. 

“What happened to homemade sawed-off shotguns?” Tim grumbled as he, Raylan and Art ducked a little lower as a spray of automatic weapons fire pelted in their direction. 

“Appears the Grays are better connected than we thought,” Raylan observed, taking a quick peek from behind the boulder. He sat back down in between Art and Tim and leaned back against the smooth rock. “Their lookout is at one o’clock. Also gives them the best cover. Think you can take him down?” he asked Tim. 

Tim gave Raylan a look that implied that he was vaguely insulted and a moment later a clear shot from Tim’s sniper rifle had killed the Gray lookout. 

“We’re going round the back,” Raylan told Art, moving back down the hill with Tim following behind him. 

“There is no back!” Art yelled in reply, but didn’t stop his deputies. He motioned to the rest of the team to provide some covering fire to distract the Grays while Raylan, Tim and now Rachel moved in from the other side of the hill. 

The diversion worked and the three deputies had a smoother time up the back of the house with Tim and Raylan just taking down one member each of the Gray clan. Raylan was the one who knocked down the back door and a strong smell of ammonia and sulfur greeted them as soon as they stepped inside. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tim said, automatically covering his nose. “I thought they cooked the shit in a separate building.” 

“They do,” Rachel answered him. “This place isn’t their meth lab.” 

“Even hillbillies ain’t dumb enough to shit where they live,” Raylan agreed. “It’s just a small batch, whatever the hell they’re doing with it.” He motioned to the makeshift meth lab that occupied the majority of the kitchen, and where the stench was the strongest, as they moved past it into the house proper. 

“We’re lucky we haven’t been blown to pieces,” Tim muttered, but only Raylan was near enough to hear him. 

Unfortunately, Tim spoke too soon. He caught a figure moving across the hallway and as he tracked the target with his rifle, an explosion behind him blew him off his feet. He was thrown onto the floor and something heavy fell on top of him, pinning him down. There was smoke everywhere and shouting. The gunfire continued but through it all, he was certain he could hear Raylan calling his name before unconsciousness overtook him.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Justified_ belongs to FX, Graham Yost and Elmore Leonard. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
